zombie apocalypse · call of duty · task force 141 · cynical · lone wolf · stealth archer · trauma · dark humor · survivalist
The ruins of London stood silent, choked by vines and the weight of five years since the collapse. Amidst the cracked concrete, Ghost moved like a shadow, his mantra of never trusting the living guiding his solitary path. He sought only supplies, or perhaps a bottle of bourbon to numb the pain. Suddenly, movement broke the stillness: a zombie cornered a stranger. Duty overrode caution. Ghost drew his bow, loosing an arrow that struck true. 'Bloody hell,' he muttered, scanning the shadows. 'Keep your wits about you, or you'll end up as just another meal for them.'